Riders On The Storm
by TheFABFive2015
Summary: TAG 2015. A one shot, kindly inspired by Champion The Wonder Snail. Guilt comes in many forms. For Virgil, survivor's guilt has always been the worst.
Hello, folks! Yes, after a bit of a break, I'm back, with another story kindly inspired by my good friend, Champion The Wonder Snail.

As you know, I have a bit of a soft spot for Virgil. And I'm sure I'm not the only one who's intrigued by that scar on his forehead. So here are my thoughts on how it might have got there, adding my own headcanon for the most popular theory that Lucy died in an avalanche. Instead of Alan, though, it was Virgil who she died protecting. As we're going to see through Scott's eyes, it's been an awful sacrifice for his brother to bear.

With thanks again to Champ, you... um... might want to have tissues on standby!

* * *

Riders On The Storm

Ah, home at last. Two more disasters averted, no lives lost, and everyone he cared about safely accounted for. What Scott Tracy would call a good day at his truly worldwide office. And just to round it off, the reviving luxury of a full power shower.

Oh, yeah. It had been a _good_ day.

Still towelling his hair, he now headed towards the den - tired and hungry, but still happy enough to allow himself a satisfied smile, and an equally cheerful whistle.

His old CO had always told him that any mission he walked away from counted as 'good.' Well, he could say the same thing now, for his new role as a Commander himself. Any rescue with no serious casualties, or fatalities, and with every one of his brothers unscathed, was the best outcome he could ever ask for.

These latest callouts had been pretty bad too. A plane's full system failure for him, and a massive earthquake rockslide for Virgil and Gordon. With so many civilians trapped inside it, they'd have had the tougher day, for sure. They'd sounded exhausted when they'd called in to say they were on their way home. Even Virgil, the family powerhouse of strength and energy, had sounded unnaturally subdued, and - ah.

Torn between surprise, concern, or just good old fashioned amusement, Scott finally settled for the latter. Debrief, it seemed, would have to wait. It was going to be kinda hard to analyse their latest mission, when its main participants were both curled up on the couch.

Lost to the world, too. Completely oblivious to him as he stood quietly beside them, watching them sleep. Not even the roar of One's own return had woken them, while the rumbles and flashes of an approaching storm were also passing them by.

Closing the blinds over the den's windows, though, just to make sure it didn't disturb them, Scott then padded back to where Virgil and Gordon still lay huddled in their own, mini puppy pile.

It was a real struggle now, for him not to laugh. Damn if this wasn't one of those moments of blackmailable gold, that just begged to be caught on camera. The family bear, and the family cub, hibernating in a nest of cushions and snuggliest flannel.

But then another flash of light over their faces caused his smile to fade, and then vanish completely. For just those few seconds, Virgil's forehead had been lit up in the den's quiet darkness. Enough for him to see - that.

That. It. The scar above Virgil's left eye, that would forever remind him of how tragically it had got there.

Not just him, though, but - damn it, aside from Alan, and maybe Gordon too, it would remind _all_ of them. That tiny blemish would forever mark the darkest day in their family's history.

The day when his brother had come within seconds of being crushed to death. The day when their mother had died in his place, in a mother's ultimate sacrifice to save her child.

In a further twist of irony, or maybe through the influence of his own subconscious, he was holding Gordon as she'd been found holding him. Wrapped tight in his arms, cradling his younger brother against his chest, with his uppermost hand covering his head.

Protecting him, just as she had done. Shielding him from the dangers that they'd both just faced from that landslide, and - _damn it_!

The frown on Scott's face grew deeper, creating dents between his eyes that were startlingly like those of his brother. His own instincts hit the alarm that he utterly hated. The one that he had to keep silent. The one he couldn't say or release out loud, so that it wouldn't disturb his sleeping brothers.

His sleeping, _injured_ brothers.

Nothing serious, thank God. Just those inevitable scrapes you'd get while pulling terrified survivors out of a collapsed building. With time and care, they wouldn't even leave any marks. Thank God for that, too, because - well, God knew, they had enough of them already.

The mass of grafts on Gordon's back. The ridge of discoloured skin along his own thigh, that would forever remind him of Delta Fifteen.

For the smaller one on Virgil's forehead, Scott knew even deeper wounds lay hidden beneath. Memories that had taken years of counselling for him to learn to live with. Because Virgil's scar wasn't just the most visible, it was also the most poignant. If they didn't catch it straight away, that tiny dink drew your attention to his brother's most striking feature. However you chose to describe them - honeyed chocolate, or like your favourite puppy's, or pools of the finest cognac - you'd find yourself drawn into Virgil Tracy's eyes.

A favourite joke between them now, of course, but - no, the eyes that had left trails of smitten girls in their wake had been as much a curse sometimes as they'd been a blessing. A curse that had almost torn the Tracy family apart. And it had all started in a hospital room, when a kindly doctor had urged his patient to be a really brave boy, and open his eyes.

Scott's eyes closed now, as memories of that moment overwhelmed him. God, how had it felt, for his brother to look into that surgeon's mirror, past all those sutures and bruising, and see their dead mother's eyes reflected back at him?

Well, once he'd stopped crying, when he'd finally come home, he'd tried to do as his doctors had said, and recognize its blessing. Tried to take the same, hollow comfort from all those other, well meaning people who hadn't known what else to say to a traumatized child, and his equally devastated father.

" _At least they saved the eye, Jeff... they've saved his sight, and... well, he still has her eyes, Jeff... that's, uh... got to be some kind of comfort, right_?"

" _Well, aren't you looking better now? And growing up to look just like your mom!_ "

" _Oh, Jeff,_ _it's_... _it's like she's still here_..."

" _Yeah, he's her mother's boy, all right... no one in the world had eyes like hers_..."

Words meant to bring comfort, but which, in the cruellest irony, had only deepened their grief. For a devastated husband, it had trapped him into its second stage. Anger so deep, consuming him so completely, that the only way out of it had been through endless bottles of whisky.

For a five year old child who'd been so close to her, it had been even worse. Scott's own anger surged through him once more, for everything that Virgil had suffered because of it. Blaming yourself for your mother's death was something that no kid should ever have to bear, and - _damn it_! Why hadn't he thought of this before? Why hadn't he taken that rockslide call himself, and spared his brother the horror of everything it must have brought back on him?

Ah, yes, the benefit of hindsight. Always twenty twenty, and always coming too late for you to see its better options. No, all he could do now was settle onto the table beside him, and wonder where Virgil's dreams had taken him.

His expression was peaceful enough, but Scott knew how deceptive that little half-smile could be. How many times had he seen it before? Those nights when he'd checked in on him, and heard it change into terrified screams before he'd reached the end of the hall?

The answer didn't bring him the comfort he'd hoped for. No, for every time he'd sat on Virgil's bed, holding him while he shook with tears in his arms, he'd had to offer him the same assurances afterwards.

" _It's okay, Virg, it's gonna be okay... it wasn't your fault, Virg, it... it was an accident... a terrible, awful accident_..."

" _But it is, Scott! It is! I was the one who wanted to go paint that mountain, and... and now mom's dead! And - And dad hates me! He hates me, Scott, he - he can't even look at me_!"

Damn, he needed both hands now, to rub his own anger and guilt out of his eyes. Okay, so he'd been too young then, to understand how his father could be so cruel towards one of his own sons. He'd been too deep in it himself to understand the grief that had turned the greatest dad in the world into a bitter, heartless tyrant, who saw life through the dregs of the nearest bottle.

Consumed by its blackest despair, the life of one of America's greatest heroes had threatened to spiral out of control. It had taken the brink of another, unthinkable tragedy to save both him, and his third born son.

" _We've got every resource we have looking for him, Mr Tracy. Don't worry, we'll find him_."

They had, too. The Chief of Kansas City Police had kept his word, and found his latest runaway. But it had been him, an equally terrified kid himself, who'd climbed out onto their farm's roof, and persuaded his little brother to take his hand, and come back inside for cuddles and cookies.

The sound of rain pulled Scott's thoughts from the past to an equally troubling present. There'd been a storm that night too. Yes, he could remember its rain, soaking his hair, and dripping down his coat. How slippery those tiles had been. How Virgil had sobbed and whimpered in his arms, clinging even tighter against him as their father had rushed towards them.

" _No, Scotty, please... please, don't - don't let me go! Please, Scotty, promise me you won't let me go_!"

Yes, nothing like your own son being too terrified of you to let you near him to snap you out of the deepest despair. It had taken days, though, days full of tears and apologies, to coax him from his eldest brother's arms into those of his father. Weeks and months of more tears, and hugs, and near pleading for him to promise to never, _ever_ , run away like that again.

In the end, of course, there'd been no danger of that. With so many painful memories to remind him - yes, maybe that's what had prompted their father to up sticks, and make their home here on Tracy Island. The fresh start that all of them had needed and which, eventually, Virgil had come to appreciate too.

" _Hey, Scott! Look at those trees! It's like we've got our very own jungle_!"

" _Yeah, Virg, we sure have! And wait 'til you see our very own beach_!"

That's when he'd heard it. For the first time since their mother's death, Virgil hadn't just smiled, he'd laughed too. To his father and eldest brother, it had been like the first rains that broke months of painful drought. Again, though, it had been Scott who'd held him close that night. Who'd assured him that, no, he hadn't done _anything_ wrong.

" _No, Virg, it's okay to laugh, and run around on our beach like that, 'cos... well, it means you're starting to get better... and mom would want to hear it too... she'd really want you to laugh again, and be happy like you were before... she wouldn't want you to be sad_..."

Neither of them had dared to recognize it at the time, but that night had been a turning point in Virgil's recovery. For the first time since their mother's death, he'd slept soundly right the way through it. The next day, he'd tugged Scott into their father's study and, to the surprise of them both, convinced him to leave all that business stuff for a while, and come down to the beach for their 'special picnic.'

" _Grandma's even made us some cookies, but they're kinda burnt, so I'm sharing some of my birthday candy. We'll have to hurry, though, or Gordy'll eat it all._ "

Smiling now at this happier memory, Scott leaned forward to brush Virgil's hair back from his forehead. In sleep, his height and strength disappeared - turning him back into the little boy who'd sit for hours in his big brother's lap, and purr with pleasure from this simplest of comforts.

Okay, so the purrs were less like a kitten's now, more like a well fed lion's, but - well, no matter. It was just good to know that he hadn't lost his touch. The frown he'd seen forming on Virgil's face had changed back to a drowsy contentment. Under this comfort of soothing fingers, the start of a troubling dream had taken him instead to a much happier place, while a stretching wriggle opened up just the space that Scott had been waiting for.

With the care of much practice, he slid himself into the gap between Virgil's head and the end of the couch. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, and his shoulder would soon be as soundly asleep as his snuggling brother. Gordon, too, had now sensed his presence, trading the crook of Virgil's arm for his older brother's lap.

So, then, this was his lot in life. To be a humanised pillow for any brother, or brothers, who needed it. Well, that suited him fine. Sitting here, with Virgil curled into his side, and Gordon snuggled into his lap, Scott knew this wasn't just where he needed to be, it was where he _wanted_ to be. Even when Virgil stirred against him, flinching awake at the latest flash of lightning, he still managed to smile down into the eyes that blinked sleepily up at him.

"Sc'tt?"

"It's okay, Virgil, it's just a storm, but it's okay, it's all passing now... it's okay, go back to sleep."

Watching him settle, Scott continued to stroke back his hair until restless stirrings became a contented sigh, and Virgil slid back into the depths of his dreams. Safe and snug in each other's arms, his two younger brothers slept peacefully against him.

Still smiling, he then glanced towards the blinds that were now allowing the tints of sunrise to filter through them. Yes, that storm was truly passing now, and in its wake... yes, in the simple joys of being together to see it, this dawn would bring all of them the very best of days.


End file.
